


Cookie Dough

by dumpsterprince



Category: Captain America (Movies), Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Baking, Bucky Barnes is a murderous kitten, Deaf Clint Barton, M/M, Other Avengers Mentioned - Freeform, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 15:30:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9278117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dumpsterprince/pseuds/dumpsterprince
Summary: Bucky had been in charge of melting the chocolate and, as revenge for the handful of flour and sugar Clint had dumped in his hair, dipped his fingers into the warm liquid and slathered it down Clint’s cheeks to resemble ‘war-paint'. Steve had wandered into the kitchen as Clint licked a spot of chocolate off Bucky’s chin and regarded them with a raised eyebrow, simply grabbing his water bottle and leaving with a sigh as they continued cackling like maniacs.





	

Clint yawned, stretching his arms above his head and feeling his jaw crack. He scratched his stomach idly as he stared at the man in bed with him. Bucky’s hair was tangled and spread about the pillow like he had been standing in hurricane wind, and he had a trail of drool from the corner of his lips to his chin. Clint reached down to smooth out the crease that had formed between Bucky’s eyes as he moved, and the gesture resulted in Bucky pulling himself closer to Clint’s side and burrowing his face in the crook of his neck. He shuddered slightly and coughed before muttering something Clint only felt rather than heard.

  
“Hang on. Haven’t got my ears in,” he leaned across the bed, inching his fingers closer and closer to his aids. Once they were in reach he flicked them into his palm and then his ears with a smooth precision that only came with years of practice. “Okay, go.”

  
“I said your pits fucking stink,” Bucky grumbled.

  
Clint only grinned in response, manouvering out of Bucky’s grip and raising his arms. Bucky twisted his features into something resembling disgust but was more pouty than anything and swatted at Clint’s hands before seemingly giving up and shoving his face back into his pillow.

  
Clint heard a muffled “Why do you hate me?” and leaned down to kiss the back of Bucky’s thigh as he clambered off the bed.

  
“You go back to sleep and I’ll shower. I won’t be long.”

  
Bucky simply raised his hand in an ‘o-kay' gesture and Clint heard soft snoring before he even reached the bathroom.

•••

Clint was perched on the kitchen table, hair still wet and spiked, when Bucky finally stumbled out of their quarters. Bucky rubbed his eyes with his knuckles before leaning against Clint and closing them again. Clint handed the coffee pot over without a word, and Bucky moaned satisfactorily as he took several large mouthfuls.

  
“Legolas keep you up all night, Robocop? It’s not like you to sleep so late,” Tony chirped as be sauntered into the kitchen, frowning when he saw the coffee pot in Bucky’s hands.

“Remind me to get a second coffee machine. Why you two can’t use mugs like normal people is beyond me.”

  
Clint nudged Bucky with his elbow. “Hear that? Tony Stark doesn’t understand something. You’re my witness.”

  
Tony scoffed and snatched the coffee from Bucky. “To be fair, you’re a mess and make no sense at the best of times. Anyway, gotta go. Things to sign, robots to build, you know the drill.” And with that he was gone as quickly as he arrived.

  
Bucky pouted at the space Tony had just occupied. “He took the coffee.”

  
Clint snorted, jumping down from his perch and hooking his arm through Bucky’s. “You know, that’s the second time I’ve seen you pout today. What’s got you upset, my murderous kitten?” Bucky pouted again at the pet name and rolled his eyes.  
“ ‘m not a murderous kitten...”

  
“Okay, okay. Why are you so pouty, sweet love of mine?”

  
Bucky glared half-heartedly and shoved at Clint’s shoulder. “Nothing. Just a rough night, is all.”

  
“I didn’t hear anything,” Bucky rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth quirking up, “and you usually wake me up if you’re feeling off. Why didn’t you?”

  
“Didn’t want to wake you. Only reason I couldn’t sleep was because your damn knee was digging into my back half the night, and the other half was you snoring like you hadn’t slept in days. But you looked relaxed and restful, so I wasn’t going to disturb you.”

  
Clint scoffed and pulled Bucky to his chest. “Do you know how stupid you just sounded? Wake me up or just shove me off the bed next time. I promise I won’t be mad.” He touched his lips to Bucky’s; chapped meeting coffee stained briefly. “How about I make it up to you with cookies?”

  
Bucky brightened. “Store bought? I like those ones.”

  
“Not today. You ever baked cookies? Answer’s irrelevant, because that’s what we’re doing. I already have the ingredients.”

  
“I didn’t know you could bake.”

  
“I can’t. But it’ll be fun. Come on, you go get the eggs.”

•••

Twenty minutes later they were both covered head-to-toe in flour with chocolate stripes on their cheeks, grinning at each other like idiots. Clint had sneezed while sifting the flour, which had resulted in it all more or less exploding in their faces. Bucky had been in charge of melting the chocolate and, as revenge for the handful of flour and sugar Clint had dumped in his hair, dipped his fingers into the warm liquid and slathered it down Clint’s cheeks to resemble ‘war-paint'. Steve had wandered into the kitchen as Clint licked a spot of chocolate off Bucky’s chin and regarded them with a raised eyebrow, simply grabbing his water bottle and leaving with a sigh as they continued cackling like maniacs.

  
Clint didn’t break eye contact with Bucky as he popped a ball of dough into his mouth and chewed happily. Bucky shot out and grabbed his wrist as he tried for another.

  
“Is that even edible? It’s raw.” His eyes were soft yet cautious, the way they usually got when Clint did or was suggesting doing something stupid and all Bucky could do was go along with it. Clint called it love. Bucky called it vexation.

  
“Yep,” he popped the p, “tastes really good. Try some. I bet HYDRA never gave you raw cookie dough as a thanks.”

  
Bucky’s eyes darkened minutely at the mention of HYDRA. He was getting better, he was, but he couldn’t help it if the mere mention of them made him want to trek across the planet burning them to the ground. Maybe Clint would want to go with him. It could be like a couples retreat, albeit not an overly romantic one, but it could still be fun in its own way.

  
He reached for one of the balls on the tray - _“we’re rolling balls, Buck, of course I’m going to laugh.”_ – and, after a comforting nod from Clint, chewed on the dough cautiously. He moaned in pleasure as the taste flooded his senses and his eyes crinkled when he smiled at Clint. The twenty-first century was great. He quickly ate the last of the dough in his hand and caught Clint reaching for another. Bucky tilted his head quizzically when he saw the mischievous gleam in Clint’s eyes, but before he could ask what he was thinking he felt one of the dough balls hit him in the lip.

  
“Is that how it is?” He questioned.

  
Clint simply winked in response, getting ready to throw another at Bucky, who had time now to open his mouth so Clint could aim properly. This time the dough landed true and Bucky munched on it happily as he threw one back at Clint.

  
Around twenty dough balls later, Clint was measuring out a shot from his hanging position off the cabinets. Bucky was perched on top of the refrigerator, head tilted back and mouth wide open. Simple playing had quickly turned into a full-fledged competition, in true Barnes-Barton style, and neither were planning on calling it quits anytime soon. Clint pulled his arm up, ready to throw, but made an undignified squeak as Thor’s booming voice suddenly filled the once silent floor and missed his shot, the dough hitting Bucky in the eye.

  
“My friends, what are you doing in such inconvenient positions?”

  
Bucky let out a bark of laughter and dropped from the refrigerator to the counter below. He raised his arms above his head and imitated a ringmaster as he cupped his hands around his mouth. “AND THE MIGHTY HAWKEYE MISSES. IT WASN’T THOUGHT POSSIBLE, BUT YOU SAW IT HERE FIRST, FOLKS. I REPEAT, THE MIGHTY HAWKEYE MISSED HIS SHOT.”

  
Clint huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “I never miss. I was aiming for your eye.”

  
“Okay, I believe you, doll. But you still owe me breakfast in bed.” Bucky winked as he clambered off the counter and wrapped his arms around Clint’s middle, resting his chin on the muscular shoulder. “Oh, hey, Thor. Were you after something?”

  
Thor frowned slightly as he looked them both up and down. They were still covered in flour and chocolate. “Steve told me where would be fresh cookies up here.”

  
“Yeah, sorry about that. We got a bit distracted. There should be a batch ready soon. We’ll let you know the minute they’re ready.”

  
“Many thanks, friends,” and with that he was gone.

  
Clint turned around so he was facing Bucky, his own arms wrapping around him, and gently leaned in to kiss Bucky. Their lips were sweet with sugar and chocolate, and their movements were slow, natural, as they tried to taste as much of the other as they could. Clint broke the kiss and rested his forehead against Bucky’s, looking deep into the caramel swirls of his eyes. He was so in love with this man. There was no other word for it. Clinton Francis Barton was deeply, madly in love with James Buchanan Barnes. He wanted to shout it from the rooftops, hell, he already had once before. He never thought the shaggy, skittish man that had wandered into Stark Tower behind Steve would mean so much to him, become his whole world. “Have I told you that I love you lately, Barnes?”

  
Bucky chuckled softly and placed his lips on Clint’s again, just touching. “Seventh dough ball, which, by the way, we’ve run out of, but you know I never get tired of hearing it.”  
Clint traced the words on the small of Bucky’s back.

  
“I love you too, doll.”

•••

“I hate you, Barton.”

  
Bucky was curled up in several blankets on one of the couches moaning about a stomachache that he swears Clint caused. It started a couple of hours ago, when they’d been shooting on the range. Bucky had dropped his rifle suddenly and announced that he was going to be sick. Clint, being the amazing boyfriend that he is, had rushed after him and managed to pull his hair back before he started dry-heaving, and rubbed his back in circular motions throughout the worst of it. He hadn’t actually thrown anything up, Clint didn’t know if that was good or bad, but he led Bucky to the communal area and piled blankets on top of him when he was seated. Bucky didn’t hesitate in wrapping himself into a cocoon and curling into the foetal position.

  
“How was I supposed to know eating cookie dough would make you sick? It’s never done that to me!”

  
Bucky simply groaned in response, closing his eyes tightly against the pain wracking his body. “God,” he breathed, “why does this hurt so much?”

  
Clint shrugged his shoulders, running his fingers through Bucky’s hair in am attempt to comfort him. “Hey, want me to put a movie on? Might distract you. And I can get Bruce to make that weird tea he gives everyone when they’re sick.”

  
“No, no tea. Bruce’s tea is disgusting. Can we watch that movie about the scalping Nazi hunters? I love that one.” He rolled slightly to look at Clint, whose eyebrows were stitched together in concern.

  
“Inglorious Basterds? Sure. Hey, JARVIS?”

  
“Yes, Agent Barton?”

  
“Could you tell everyone that Buck and I are watching that movie? I know Steve loves it and Tony can never say no to Quentin Tarantino.”

  
“Of course, Agent Barton.”

  
Bucky grabbed Clint’s hand and pulled him onto the couch, adjusting slightly so they both fit under the covers. Clint rested his arm across Bucky’s ribs and rubbed his stomach, hoping to ease some of the pain. His breath on Bucky’s ears tickled and he felt Clint press his lips to the back of his neck as the other Avengers piled onto the other couches and started the movie. He closed his eyes again briefly and opened them when he felt a steaming mug get waved under his nose. Bruce was the bearer, insisting that hot chocolate never hurt anyone but he should avoid eating raw egg again. Clint reached over him and grabbed it, placing it on the floor in front of them so it was easy accessible.

  
“Thanks, Brucey. You’re the best.”

  
Bruce nodded stiffly and wandered over to the couch occupied by Tony and Wanda. Nat, Steve and Sam were sharing one of the other couches, while Thor had somehow managed to get one all to himself. Steve raised a questioning eyebrow at him, _“are you okay?”_ and seemed satisfied when Bucky nodded in response. Bucky stroked his thumb over the hand still rubbing his stomach and sighed contently. His stomach hurt like hell, but he was surrounded by family and wrapped around the man who had made everything in his life infinitely better ever since he limped into it. He decided then and there that, watching the others bicker about the best scalping techniques and feeling Clint’s steady breathing on his back, while he still wanted to send HYDRA to the fiery depths of Hell where it belonged, without them he wouldn’t have what he does now.

  
A family.

  
He fell asleep to the sound of Tony yelling at the TV and Clint tracing _‘I love you’_ into his skin.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm currently trying to get back into the swing of things in preparation for the Winterhawk mini-bang, and ultimately the big-bang, so expect several oneshots in the coming weeks.  
> I should also be posting a sequel of sorts to I Can't Believe That by the end of the week, so stay tuned.  
> Comments and kudos are appreciated, and if you have any recommendations or suggestions feel free to comment or message me here, or my tumblr's also an option (dumpster--prince)


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